


Baby, It's Sick

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Infidelity, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This, she thinks, is love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, It's Sick

She's the only one who knows what a bastard he can be.

It brings her close to nausea, the way he placates everyone with sweet, goofy smiles, the way he leans too close as a fan holds up her camera awkwardly to take a crooked photograph. His shy grin and his eyes cast downward as he laughs off compliments. The tender shine in his eyes as he speaks of his family. It makes her laugh a little harder at other men’s jokes, brush her fingers along strangers' lapels, lift the hem of her skirt a bit higher. They all want something to look at, after all, even him. Especially him.

She'll give him something to look at.

It's this part she loves: the blunt edge of a mahogany desk battering the backs of her thighs as he grips her slender forearms in tight fists, a radiating pain that will leave its mark for days in black and blue. His exposed throat, flushed pink from his Adam's apple down to his chest, all the skin she can see with half of his shirt buttons undone. His imperfect teeth, gleaming like knives.

"You think I don’t know this is how you want it?" he growls. "You think you need to tease me?"

This, she thinks, is love: his cock sliding in and out of her like harsh torment, his pace slowing when she needs it faster, the sharpest angles when she least expects it. Her back bowed and aching as he forces her down to the unforgiving wood and pushes the lace of her bra down and away, greedily sucking the freed flesh. Her heel caught on the back of his knee, manicured nails scratching trails of red over his shoulders. This is all she needs, all she ever wants from him.

"You fucking love it, John," she hisses.

And when he lifts her, tugs her head back by her hair, the wicked gleam in his eyes tells her she's right—the rakish grin of gratitude for this freedom. She dies a thousand times over for that look on his face, twists and screams for it. He pulls her closer by her wrists until their lips are inches apart, wet and gasping.

They can both pretend it’s revenge.


End file.
